


Bodies They Leave Behind

by the_authors_exploits



Series: Strangers in Nothing but Name [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Gen, Grief, Mourning, Ragnarok, Smoking, Violence, has some minor UtRH themes (if you can call them that??), lots of death, no happiness; seriously there's no happiness sorry not sorry, nondescript torture, poor coping mechanisms, vague imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9466211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: Jason burns; Wanda fuels; the world ends, or are they the only ones dead?





	1. Lost Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the beginning of the end~!

Loki’s veins tremble when the crust of Midgard cracks beneath the seas, when Jormungandr loosens his grip on his tail and let’s Midgard break and boil; Pietro eyes him when his muscles writhe, when Skuld wraps himself about Loki’s shoulder and when Urd latches themselves around Pietro’s waist.

Pietro doesn’t see them though, doesn’t see the pain the worlds suffer nor does he see the Norns who lead them through and between the lands; this little pocket place of safety Verdandi and Skuld create and recreate, keep balanced to keep Loki safe if Ragnarok cannot be stopped, is warm and cold, dark and bright.

“Do you know where they are?” Pietro questions, eyeing the void of constellations around them; he dips his hand into the stardust and it comes out glowing. Verdandi twitters and Urd hums, prideful and content for the moment.

Loki does; he sees the children clearly, has watched them for weeks now, awaiting the Norns orders to step in. “Yes.”

“When can we go to them?”

Loki watches the witch vengefully hold a monster down while the cursed boy erases it from existence; Midgard groans, and somewhere along Loki’s spine Jotunheim screeches. The children laugh—the boy does, grinning viciously, and there’s a cold welcome in the girl’s shoulders.

“When the time is right.”

That doesn’t satisfy Pietro, but he has no choice to believe the god of mischief; he sits in this void pocket, doesn’t know Urd and Verdandi curl close, and swallows the need to hold his sister and friend close.

On Midgard, on Earth, Jason stands above a Hydra agent while Wanda twists her magic against the stranger’s limbs, restraining him; Jason advances, his boots falling heavy upon the wet concrete floor, slick with water and blood. He grins behind his lower face mask, his eyes glowing as his teeth snarl for him; of course, it’s unseen.

No one can see his grin behind the mask; he couldn’t get ahold of his helmet or jacket or body armor, but he knows how the underworld works. And Wanda is an expert manipulator; it wasn’t hard to find replacements for the weapons and armor he lost during the Accords drama, to procure them from those more willing when faced with a glowing teenager and his threatening friend. Sister; something closer than friend, lesser than romance.

A tether, a preserver in a storm that has ripped their lives apart and threatens to drown them; the other side of a coin, the puzzle piece that compliments him and he her.

Wanda, face also obscured by a mask and a hood pulled over her bushy hair, nods to him once; Jason’s grin widens and he blinks. There’s a gentle flash of green before the struggling grunts and warning yells cease to exist, the agent vanishing into nothingness, and Wanda’s fingers relax to spark red.

The other agents shrink in fear, gripping their weapons tighter, and Jason tips his head quietly back and to the side, eyeing each in slow turn; some turn and run, but Wanda doesn’t let them. She contorts her hand, a vicious snarl on her face, and they trip and fall. They try to rip the magic from their ankles, but Wanda holds true.

“Open fire!” one man orders, panic in his voice.

Jason responds with a quiet scoff, head dipping down to his chest, and when the bullets come Wanda stands firm with a shield around her; Jason allows the air around him to swallow the projectiles, little green splotches, and he rushes across the room. He twists, jams his elbow into one’s jugular, and then twists once more to fit the palm of his hand against a different agent’s chin; behind him, there’s a chilling cackle and he knows Wanda is dragging her prey towards her.

He flashes through existence, or at least it feels like he does, as he flickers from one enemy to the next; he comes into existence, grabs a gun and pulls the enemy’s sternum against his knee, follows through with the action of pulling his leg back to kick out against another’s shin. He moves again, silent and deadly, grinning, and clothespins a man into his companion; it’s not enough as they stumble so Jason thinks about them disappearing and they do.

Screams echo off the walls, screams Jason hadn’t paid attention to, but now he turns and watches Wanda contort limbs into what pleases her; he pulls his mask down, the handkerchief of a skeletal chin folding against his collarbone, and lights up a cigarette. Some others groan but it’s drowned out by Wanda’s work; her magic slithers about broken limbs and Jason breathes out smoke from his lungs.

It’s only a few more minutes before the screams stop, cut off as the tendrils wrap around their throats, and when they still beneath Wanda’s ministrations she turns her full face mask—it’s a cold thing, flat and white, the lips stitched with black and charcoal coloring the eye slits—towards Jason.

She tips her head and a lock of hair falls out from beneath her hood; it’s one of Jason’s old ones, baggy but still fitting, and she stands to her full height. “We’re not done here yet,” she says, voice slightly muffled.

Jason tosses his cigarette down, stamps it out, and tugs his mask back up; he pulls his gun and without hesitation shoots everyone who was left alive. Wanda goes further into the facility, to the computers, and she wipes a speck of blood off the keyboard; there’s a memory stick in her hand, and she goes to work gathering information. Files, evidence, and whatever they can get; when she pulls the memory stick out and tucks it into her hoodie pocket, Jason shoots the monitors, having returned from exploring other areas.

They walk out side by side, stepping over bodies, and when they get a good safe distance Jason detonates the charges he’d set; behind them the facility explodes in brilliant flames, and Wanda pulls her mask off to smile at her partner, teeth pristine and hair mused. Jason smiles back.

They’re violent crusade will only continue, they think; this is not a beginning, for there will not be an end.


	2. Former heroes/Dont you know...

Steve likes to imagine the secret agent doesn’t follow him around the grocery store; he likes to imagine they haven’t been tailing everyone since Wanda’s bracelet sent out an alarm, since she and Jason disappeared in the middle of the night, since the morning Steve woke up to Accord agents banging on Clint’s door. An empty cot, an open window…

T’challa had continued to advocate for them, for the interlopers against the Accords; that included Sam, Clint, Steve, and the kids. He’d been mediating for them, keeping them out of deep trouble; he is the Wakandan king, practical leader, and the panel isn’t comfortable going against him. So he says Steve and Clint and Sam are not to be touched, and that the children need to be brought in alive and as unharmed as possible.

“I do not want to hide them away on the Raft if I do not have to, Mister Rogers, but you have to understand that the longer they hide the more enemies they make; people are fearful, and the more the danger stays hidden in the shadows the more the fear grows.”

Yes, Steve understands; but he doesn’t like it. The kids have been spotted, in various places around the states, one time in Florida, another time in Washington; how they were able to afford that Steve didn’t know. But they were traveling, disappearing, and Clint thought they might’ve been trying to get ahold of armor and weapons from the blackmarket.

When asked about it, the archer had shrugged and swallowed pitch black coffee. “I’ve been around.”

Steve puts the can of soup back on the shelf and stuffs his hand in his jeans pocket; he sighs, glances momentarily at the agent loitering around the gummy bears, and slinks down the aisle. He needs cereal, and a half gallon of milk; Sam said he’d pick up the eggs on his way back to the apartment…

That’s another thing that’s changed since the kids went off the grid; Sam and Steve left Clint on his farm to be closer to civilization, in hopes to be ready to go after every sighting of Wanda and Jason. Except they still have to go through a rigorous interview with Ross every time they wanted to leave the city limits.

Steve finds the cereal—Cheerios, it’s good for fighting cholesterol, not that Steve or Sam had high cholesterol—and tucks it in his shopping basket. He catches sight of the agent; he’s dressed in sweats and a jogging jacket, messily cropped hair, casually reading the nutritional value of Lucky Charms.

Jason likes Lucky Charms; Steve walks down the aisle with firm steps, snatches the box from the agent’s hand, and shakes it.

“My kid likes this,” he nearly snarls. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him; tell Ross or whoever the fuck sent you we’re doing fine, haven’t heard from my kids, and that if we do we’ll be sure to let you know.”

Steve stuffs the box in with his broccoli and Cheerios and goes for the dairy aisle; he still needs milk.

The groceries are organized neatly back at the apartment, and Steve taps out a response to Natasha’s text.

_hydra base was destroyed in Wisconsin_

_do you think it was Jason and Wanda?_

_Yeah_  
_witnesses from the town say two teenagers_  
_stopped by few days before and then_  
_left immediately after the base was destroyed_

_Ill check it out  
thank you_

That makes the seventh base in three weeks; they’re accelerating. Steve braces himself on the counter and breathes; they have to get those kids some help. He’s not sure why they’re doing this, though he can imagine; grief and unfairness, two kids caught in a war…

He considers calling Peter, goes so far as to pick up his phone and hover over Peter’s contact information; he wants to know how Peter handled his own war all alone and came out sane. The doorknob rattles, and Sam steps in; he pulls his key from the hole, pressing his phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Okay; alright, thank you. Yeah, we’ll be there.” Sam hangs up, shaking the phone in his roommate’s direction. “That was T’challa; we’ve got a plane with Natasha and Tony scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

Steve nods; he pushes away his animosity towards Tony, they’re arguments over the accords and… And Bucky. That happened, and though the feelings are still there Steve has to focus on the kids now; he takes a deep breath, nods once more, and turns towards the stove.

“What do you want for dinner?”

Sam sits at the counter, a good friend and an excellent support, and Steve reminds himself to breathe through the weight on his shoulders; he's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling the chapters are going to be pretty short for a while, sorry guys!


	3. ...The kids arent alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said the chapters were gonna be short, but this ended up being 1.5k...

He was Robin once, or at least that was the name they called him; they… Gothamites, civilians, villains, the Joker… Batman, Bruce… Was he Jason to Bruce or was he Robin? It’s hard to remember; he thinks he was Jason, but sometimes he thinks he was just Robin. A symbol.

The voice in his head calls him Jason, tone soft and warm and calming; it’s almost familiar, like a mimic from his memory, but the words aren’t memory. _Jason, let me help you; Jason, come home; Jason, you’re hurting; Jason, trust me…_

The voice in his soul, coursing through his veins, calls him monster and encourages destruction; that fire burning in Jason’s stomach, the voice hisses _yes, yes, death_ ; _kill, they deserve it, you’re saving people, make them disappear forever, take their lives and save a broken boy_.

Sometimes the voices fight each other, and Jason wakes in a cold sweat; the sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, eyes aglow in a darkened room, and he pushes sticky hair from his face. Nightmares; random snippets of things. The way it felt to run out of oxygen in his coffin, the way creaky motel beds somehow felt safe… He wonders if Bucky stopped breathing in the stasis machine, wishes he had paid more attention to Bruce’s presentation at the gala all those months ago…

He thinks Wanda has nightmares too; he wakes and she’s curled in the corner of whatever hideout they’re in, blanket wrapped loosely around her body. Her magic sparks sometimes, and she flinches; her gaze is always frozen to the space under their bed. Jason knows that look, of longing and fear and the wish to be safe.

He takes the pillows, stuffs them under the bed and scoots himself underneath; he finds a comfortable position for his bulk, his shoulders beginning to fill out, his toes peeking out from beneath the bedframe. Wanda brings the blanket; she takes the second pillow, offering Jason a corner and he accepts; they curl under there, long after the air has turned heavy from their carbon dioxide, long after the sun has risen and any darkness but their own has been chased away.

Jason knows it’s safest under the bed from his younger years; how Wanda learned it is a mystery, but Jason’s pretty sure it has to do with late night talks with Pietro that she mentioned once before. A training mat under Jason as he tried to apologize for not being able to save him, Wanda above him frowning and brows furrowed; _“We would always talk so much; at night, when no one could hear us. We would talk, about nothing and everything, about whatever interested us; and it was special.”_ He holds her hand now, but neither says anything. The intimate talks are saved for her brother, and Jason wouldn’t dare claim that.

They emerge from their cocoon when it’s time to move; Jason tosses his sweats in after a quick shower, and Wanda does the same with her own pajamas. She tucks her face mask into the waistband of her shorts, and Jason wraps his around his wrist; it being a piece of cloth makes it versatile, and Jason hands Wanda her jacket. She passes Jason his holsters, and he hides his weapons on his person.

They step out of their hotel room, drop the key off at the desk, and walk out before the receptionist can say anything; they take a bus to three cities over. Jason holds his hand out as they walk down the street, and Wanda drops a handful of quarters in his palm; Jason shoulders open a payphone—they’re hard to find, but in the slums of cities they’re still popular—and Wanda shuts it behind him, taking post.

Jason dials the number he’s memorized; they left their phones behind, and it wasn’t a priority to get ones. Too easy to track, to pin them down and drag them back. Jason presses the phone between his ear and shoulder, dumping his bag at his feet and shuffling around in the small space. On the third ring, his contact picks up.

_“What does the bird sing today?”_

“I’m not the bird,” Jason answers.

_“I don’t think that’s a part of our code list, Jay.”_

“You know I didn’t memorize that.”

Tim laughs; _“So, Wisconsin?”_

“Went well; base is gone, we got a good night’s rest, hopped on a bus. What’s the next location?”

 _“That was all I could find, Jason.”_ There’s the sound of shuffling, papers shifting. _“Shield—or is it the Accords Panel now?—whoever is in charge… They found the loophole I used to get into their files, blocked me; I tried a few other times to get in. I was able to look at a few other locations but they aren’t Hydra, and the ones that were have already been dealt with._

_It’s over, Jason; Hydra’s gone.”_

He doesn’t say anything; he stands there and breathes for a moment. “That…” he thumbs his temple. “No… There’ve gotta be more; you…you missed something.”

Tim doesn’t say anything for a moment; a dog barks, a door opens, and Tim raises his voice. _“Get out of my room!”_ A muffled voice responds, snippy and high pitched. _“No, I’m on the phone; out! Out!”_ Another bark, a whistle, and the door shuts again; Tim sighs. _“Jay… I’m not going to lie, I could’ve missed something; but that’s all I’ve got. I…I don’t have anything else for you.”_

Jason pushes the door open, and motions Wanda inside; it’s a tight fit in the phonebooth, but they make it work, and he tips the phone towards her too. She takes the quarters from his hand and pushes a few more into the machine when it begins beeping. “We can’t… There’s gotta be more. You’ve got to look somewhere else.”

_“I looked; I’m sorry. Jason, you guys did it; the Hydra bases are destroyed. Hydra…is gone.”_

For a minute, they breathe; Wanda, eyes wide and wet, stares over Jason’s shoulder. And Jason tries to hold on, as everything drains from him; Hydra is gone, or whatever they can reach is. Their revenge is done; for Pietro, for Wanda, for Bucky, for everyone hurt and tortured and killed and taken… They burned like a wildfire, burned out of fuel too quickly, and now they’re just embers.

“What do we do now?”

Wanda turns her gaze to him, wraps an arm around his waist, and sags against him.

 _“You could come home,”_ Tim offers, and Jason scoffs. _“Listen, I’m moving out at the end of next month; you guys can move in with me. It’s a penthouse, spacious, there’s a balcony and a huge kitchen. You’d like it.”_

“You know we can’t; what would dear daddy bats say?”

Animosity curls like smoke around Tim’s words; _“Who cares? I’m moving out, he doesn’t have a say in who my roommates are.”_

Wanda takes the receiver. “Wait, why are you moving out?”

_“Hi, Wanda; it’s a long story. How are you?”_

“I…am unsure.”

_“Listen, the offer is open; you guys can come stay with me, as long as you need.”_

“Thank you, Tim; for everything.”

 _“You guys keep in contact, ok? And if I can do anything else…call.”_ He takes a deep breath. _“Can I talk to Jason?”_

She passes the phone back, tucks a few more quarters in the machine; Jason presses the receiver close. “Hey…”

_“You ok?”_

“Yeah; just…didn’t expect it to be over so soon.”

_“I’m sorry; I’ll let you know if I find anything else. I’m not giving up on you, Jason. Call if you need anything, and remember: my apartment is yours, whenever you need it.”_

He’ll have to talk to Tim about that, about moving out; he’s still just a kid, and Jason feels there's more going on than Tim's letting on… “I’ll call you later.” He hangs up, and they unfold from the phonebooth; the sun is high and bright, and newspapers blow about their feet. For a moment, they both just breathe.

The voice in his head calls him Jason; the one in his soul calls him Monster, and his memories call him various names ~~(Robin, Phoenix, son)~~. Civilians call him Reaper, and Wanda is graced with Phantom because of her mask; Jason laughed at that, asked if she’d ever seen Phantom of the Opera. She shook her head and Jason remembered what her life was; a bomb, a rocket, experiments and magic and Hydra and death… “We’ll watch it when this is over; it’s a classic”.

Well, Jason reasons as he snatches the dvd from the rental machine; it’s over. Their crusade is apparently completed; Hydra is destroyed. The world is safe.

They curl on the creaky motel bed together, huddled under three blankets and a three bags of popcorn settled between them; the television flickers images across them, Christine’s dancing figure moving across the screen. Wanda rests her head on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason tips his atop hers; they sit in silence in the night.

The following morning there’s a report of a kidnapping, another of a convenience store being robbed and the manager being shot. Jason meets Wanda’s gaze evenly, and she slips on her oversized jacket and offers him his facemask.

Hydra is destroyed, but the world isn’t necessarily safe; they’ll have to remedy that.


	4. Time to make amends

T’challa meets them at the Wisconsin airport, his phone pressed to his ear. “Alright, Professor; thank you for your help.”

Steve tips his head to the side; what sort of connections does a King of Wakanda have?

T’challa greets them with a bow of his head, still speaking on the phone. “I understand; I’m working on it. Does our deal still stand?” By his warm smile, this professor agrees; “Please call if you get any leads; thank you. Good day!”

“T’challa,” Natasha greets, hefting her carry on. “It’s nice to see you.”

Steve hasn’t said much to Tony, and Tony hasn’t said much to Steve; Sam took the role of mediator, attempting a sort of conversation with Tony. _“How’s Pepper?”, “She’s well”, “How are you?”, “I’m fine”…_ Steve shifts.

Before the conversation between Natasha, Tony, and T’challa can drift too far, Steve clears his throat; it draws their attention, and Natasha considers the once Captain America.

“Where’s this base they destroyed? And the motel they stayed at?” Steve grabs his bags and takes a step for the door. “I’d like to find them as soon as possible.”

T’challa acquiesces. “Of course, Captain.” He waves their group towards an SUV parked by the curb; they begin stocking their luggage in the trunk. “It was disguised as a textile mill; how they’ve discovered all these locations is beyond me.”

“Friday,” Tony pipes up, unfolding a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on, “reports that the system at the Accords building has been hacked into; on multiple occasions.”

Natasha silently shoves Tony towards the front of the car and slips into the back with Sam and Steve; “so they got the information from us?”

T’challa takes the driver’s seat, and Tony shifts nervously; Steve is reminded of how he prefers to drive. Sam wonders if it’s a control thing, something connected to his parents, or maybe a bit of both. “Perhaps; I wonder where they got their technology though. We know the body armor and other equipment they’ve been seen with wasn’t easy to come by, and the technology required to hack into something so extensive as the Accords’ system would be—”

“Way beyond their paygrade,” Tony butts in. “So either they stole it or they’ve got help.”

Steve hesitates; there’s a third option, if the kids are smart enough… “When we were…looking for Bucky, back when… When he was the Winter Soldier, Natasha and I were able to get into files through a laptop at a store; if the kids are resourceful, they may have done the same thing.”

Natasha nods subtly, and Sam smiles encouragingly; T’challa seems to consider the possibility, before nodding in acceptance, and Tony watches out the window. They drive in silence for a while, before Natasha strikes up a conversation with T’challa about Wakanda and how his Kingship is going; T’challa invites Sam into the conversation, asking after Clint and if Sam has rejoined his therapist carrier.

“I’ll go back after we find Jason and Wanda; my schedule needs to be flexible right now.”

“Understandable; and you, Steve. How are you?” T’challa turns off the main highway to a backroad, winding, and a cop car goes towards the way they came.

“Fine.” Steve doesn’t mean to be snippy; he’s tired, and worried, and stretched thin. “So what exactly did they do to the…”

Steve trails off as the base comes into view; it’s a burnt wreckage, ash and twisted metal, and Steve leans forward to see it better. Sam does too, and Natasha peers curiously out.

“The surrounding area wasn’t damaged?”

“No,” Tony pipes up, hand on the doorknob and ready to bail. “The blast was contained; what was the body count, T’challa?”

The king eyes Tony with scrutiny. “The records here said 234 were working here; the bodies recovered were 146. Of course, some may have been lost in the fire.”

Jason and Wanda killed 146 people; it’s not the first time Steve’s seen one of their war fields, but it still rocks him to the core. It’s not that he hasn’t killed, or that they haven’t fought before; but that they’re doing this, with such vengeance, and alone without backup, all while being chased by a panel of judges ready to throw them in a prison in the middle of the ocean and forget them…

It’s too much; Steve stumbles out of the car and towards the wreckage. He goes to the edge of the burnt building, eyeing piles of ash and melted metal, blown out computers; he shakes his head. There’s so much destruction here, the taste of something rotten on the air, vile. A hand curls against his shoulder, firm and supportive.

“Where’d it all go wrong, Sam?”

His friend shakes his head; “I think it was a long time coming; Jason became very reserved a while ago, Steve. And then his magic showed up and we weren’t prepared to help him.”

“And then we lost Bucky.” Steve knows the relationship Bucky and Jason had; it was close and companionable, supportive and understanding, something that kept Jason balanced and safe… Losing Bucky had not only left a gaping hole in Steve, but had ripped the floor out from under Jason. “He was different after Bucky.”

Sam shakes his head; “A lot happened; we’re all different after Bucky… And Wanda is a wild card.”

“She’s powerful and thought she found a place; then Natasha and Clint split up, and the Accords happened, and her safe place was disrupted too.” Steve glances back to the SUV; Tony’s kneeling near the burnt building, inspecting and investigating, and Natasha offers Steve and Sam a smile. T’challa is back on his phone, speaking quietly into it, and Steve starts walking back to the car; there isn’t going to be any clues here.

Jason and Wanda aren’t stupid; they haven’t left any hints before, at any of the other locations. Steve scrubs a hand over his face; alright. Well, they couldn’t have gone far since they were first alerted to this; Steve goes back for the car.

“Come on, Tony,” Steve calls, voice even. “We aren’t going to find anything here; let’s go to the hotel and figure out a plan for tomorrow.”

Tony folds to his full height, trails after them, and slips between T’challa and the driver’s seat. “I’m driving, King, get in the back.”

T’challa slips in with a raised brow, still listening intently to the soft and calm voice on the other end of his phone. “Do you know where they are? Or their next steps? No, just that they’re… Alright, thank you very much, professor.” T’challa hangs up and catches Steve’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “That was a friend of mine; he’s been helping me keep an eye on the kids. He’s a telepath, says for about two hours both Jason and Wanda were… Silent, so to say; they felt empty. Not sure what it’s all about, but he says they’re about three cities over.”

Steve will have to question after this friend later; for now, he casually eyes Tony. The billionaire is still hiding behind his sunglasses. “You up to driving overnight?”

“Get me a Red Bull and I can pull two all-nighters.”

Steve looks out the window; they’re close to getting the kids back. And if they all act the slightest bit like a team, well… Steve will reminisce later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting to put the Professor in so soon but I guess he's there?? He was supposed to be a mysterious background character that would show in like the last chapter! Damn you, Professor X!!


	5. Still Leads to Frustration

The land pulses gently, and Pietro stares longingly out at the vast expanse of the universe; they’re in a bubble here, quiet and lonely, stasis. Still; cold… He rubs his hands together, trying to spot Earth; if they’re even near Earth, in this strange universal landscape.

Loki suddenly glances up, quick and sharp; Pietro watches a lazy smile grow across his face, eyes roving over the stars.

“What is it?” Pietro tries to follow Loki’s erratic gaze.

“There’s a storm coming, young one; do you think we should face it?” Something is hidden in his voice, somewhat sinister, and a shiver runs down Pietro’s spine.

“If it will help Wanda and Jason, then of course.” He wants to see his sister; he wants to hug her, he wants to thank Jason for looking out for her. He wants to talk to her, to cook with her, to live their life…

Loki turns his emerald gaze on the teenager, heavy laden and dangerous. “Do you want to meet a god, Pietro?”

He doesn’t say anything; Loki stares deep within Pietro’s eyes, piercing and all knowing, and Pietro settles on a response. “Aren’t you a god?”

He blinks; an emptiness consumes the flowing venom in his eyes, chasing it away, and his visage slackens. He turns back to the masterpiece that surrounds them; Skuld, floaty as ever, wraps himself around Loki’s waist, hand gently brush across his hip. “I am not a god.”

“…So what are you?”

Silence; Loki doesn’t turn to face him. He stares out at the universe, and then he turns towards a portal that appears at the farther end of their bubble. Pietro stands hurriedly, takes a step forward, feels a tug against his arm that holds him back; he watches Loki.

“If you’re not a god, then what are you?”

He halts, and a ripple courses through the air as he shifts; whatever visible skin fades away, from natural to a blue, and when he slowly turns around his eyes are nearly glowing. Colored red, Pietro tries not to find it disturbing. “What does it look like?”

Pietro doesn’t know what to say, so he gapes; the grip on his arm, whatever metaphysical being has him captive, tightens. Pietro doesn’t feel threatened, but he still can’t find an appropriate response; so he says nothing.

Loki transforms again, turning away once more, and squares his shoulders. “I shall investigate the going ons on Midgard, and return with a more detailed plan of how we should proceed; Urd and Verdandi shall stay with you and keep you safe. If you need anything, just ask.”

And then he steps through the portal, it shutting behind him, leaving Pietro alone in this strange expanse.

On earth, thunder rumbles; Wanda flips her hair over her shoulder, glancing out of the café window and watching Jason loiter on the street corner. He leans against the crosswalk light, pulling a cigarette from his mouth and scuffing his toe against the wet ground; it’s rained for days now, this the only day that hasn’t for some time. The clouds are still there, the thunder still threatening, but at least Wanda’s hair isn’t wet today and Jason has only sneezed a few times.

“Refill?” it’s a barista, smiling down where Wanda sits, and the witch glances down to her cold mocha.

“No thanks.” It’s cold, the whipped cream creating a fine film across the top, and she knows she’s not going to finish it; the door opens, and a glance out the window tells her who it is. Sure enough, with her magic touching another, Jason slips into the seat across from her; she doesn’t even think twice before pushing the cup towards him. “Better?”

Jason sniffs at the cup, drinks it; he’s never cared much about what’s set before him. If its edible, he accepts it. “Sure.”

Wanda doesn’t believe him.

“What’s next then?” he slumps back against his chair, slouched and lazy like; but Wanda can see the tension around his eyes, the drawn lines, she knows his feet are firm on the floor in case of the need to run. He eyes the waiter near the telephone, the couple sharing a muffin across the room… “What do we do today?”

“And tomorrow; and the day after that; and the day after that…” Wanda tips her head against the glass window, eyeing lightning in the sky, awaits the thunder. “We can only fight low level crime for so long…”

“What do you want to do?”

A deep breath; the thunder doesn’t come, or at least isn’t audible, and lightning flashes in lines across the sky. It cracks the clouds, but lights the scenery, destruction and something else. “We’ve done what I wanted,” and she feels empty for it, unsatisfied, insatiable. “Hydra is defeated; Hydra is erased. I have what I want.” This anger, this pain, this grief doesn’t leave. “What do you want?”

There’s a pause, more lightning in the sky, and Jason drags his heavy gaze from their surroundings to his companion; she matches his gaze evenly, head still tipped against the window. “I want Gotham.” That’s not quite what he means to say; he wants safety, happiness, wholeness; he wants to protect.

Wanda straightens, and outside thunder claps loudly; the earth rocks, the sound barrier shattering, a blip in the sky flitting towards New York. She knows what Jason means, and she smiles. “Then we take Gotham.”

Rain pitters out on the pavement growing into a torrential downpour; inside the café, Wanda and Jason are dry and warm—and plotting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im back~! Sorry for the lengthy wait; if you dont follow me on tumblr you may not have heard that Ive been on a medical leave from my school due to mental health stuff and Ive been taking meds to get back on my feet.
> 
> Ive taken time to put myself back together, and to reengage in my hobbies that I used to love; they sort of became a chore and Im happy to be getting that passion for them back :) Im doing much better now, Im feeling more energized and focused, and Im going to start writing a ton again! Ive got a whole list of ideas that I want to write, so look forward to new stories and adventures coming soon!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me for so long, and I hope what I create can still be enjoyable for you! <3


	6. Something Engaging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *toes the hiatus under the rug* So how's everyone doing?

It’s like his first visit all over again; well, it couldn’t quite be called a visit if he had been banished, but this time around Thor smiles jovially at his captors and awaits their leader’s entrance. He came willingly, Mjolnir still in hand, and as regale as the current ruler of Asgard should be.

“Friend,” he calls to one of the guards stationed at the room’s doorway, smiling to try and ease the tension. “I only wish to find my friends; I have something of urgency to discuss with the Avengers.”

“And as we’ve already told you, the Avengers have been dispersed. You’ll have to talk with Secretary Ross.”

Patience is not his virtue; it’s a lesson he’s still learning, and he takes a breath to remember that. Patience; he can do this. He waits.

Eventually, the door is opened at last and enters who Thor can only guess is Secretary Ross and a few other personnel.

“I am Thor Odinson, current ruler of Asgard, and I have come to request the aid of the Avengers.”

Ross blinks at him, then over at his personnel, and then back at the god. “Sir, please sit down; the Avengers are, as you can tell, under new management. Before we can offer you any help, you’ll need to read and sign these.” A lady hefts a large binder down in front of him, and Thor peers in confusion at it.

“What is this?”

“These are the Accords; a set of rules written to control the damage you so-called heroes have wrought. Please,” he waves at them. “Read them; if you sign, we will offer aid. If you do not sign, we’ll have to confiscate your weaponry and consign you to a watchful guard.”

A tip of his head, and Thor turns his confused gaze from the stack of papers to this new man; Ross is serious. He wants to cage a god.

“Have all the Avengers signed?”

Ross thinks for a moment, as if weighing his options. “No, not all; that shouldn’t change your decision, Thor.”

“Who did not sign? As god of Asgard, I demand a clear answer.”

Clearly uncomfortable, he swallows. “Captain America, the witch, the boy, Sam Wilson.”

No mention of Bucky, though Heimdell has already informed him of what’s happened with him. Thor chuckles; he hefts Mjolnir in his hands, regarding it, and then ever gently settles it atop the papers.

“Do you know what power my hammer holds?” Steve was the only one, barring the robotic man, who the hammer answered to.

Ross raises a brow. “Its storms? Uh, lightning and thunder?”

Thor steps away from the table. “More than that, it is a scale of your worth; for whosoever be worthy may lift it. The hammer will determine your worth; should you be honorable, I will sign your papers.”

“I’m not going to play your games; this is a serious matter, Thor. Read and sign, or don’t.”

Darkness shades his face. “I have not played games since my youth, when my brother loved and my heart was not broken; or do you forget that you speak to a god?”

They’re at an impasse; Thor, calm and serene, awaiting the verdict in the corner of the room—Ross standing rigid near the door. However stubborn Ross is, Thor is more so; he stands steady. Heaving a breath, Ross steps forward.

“Ridiculous,” he murmurs; hand wrapping about the hammer’s hilt, he tugs.

And it does not budge. Another tug, and it stands fast still; Thor sighs. Of course.

He steps forward, which pushes Ross away, and lifts Mjolnir. “I do not sign, Ross. And I take my leave to where my friends are; those who would help me.”

He steps from the room, and thankfully no one follows him; he is not so thick as to not recognize the way he came so he takes the path back out. Personnel spare him attention purely because he is the fabled god of thunder, and his even gate, squared shoulders, set jaw warns those who want to direct him to keep their mouths shut.

A corner comes up and he takes it too fast to keep from knocking a small mortal off their feet; the teenager jolts back, a bag scattering across the floor, and Thor pauses, grip tight on Mjolnir. But it’s only Peter, Jason’s friend, and Thor offers his hand in apology.

“Thor!” Peter exclaims, and then his eyes grow wide as he grabs his bag and stands. “Wh-what are you doing on Earth? I thought you were in charge of Asgard?”

“I am; some important events have happened. I must get in contact with the Avengers, though it appears they are scattered.”

The boy doesn’t meet his gaze; he ops to fiddle with the zipper on his backpack and look elsewhere. “Uh, yeah; yeah, they are. Um…”

Thor tips his head. “Would you happen to know where I could locate young Jason and Steven?”

This causes him to duck his head, a flush appearing; shame, it would seem, for Thor has felt it plenty. “I-I don’t know. Did Ross not tell you anything?”

The god shakes his head; a stalemate then, where Peter refuses to lift his gaze and Thor ponders what drama has befallen his friends.

“They’re in Wisconsin.”

It’s a quiet murmur, and Thor nearly startles. “Wisconsin?

HIs eyes flicker up briefly and there’s a darkness there, soul deep and painful; they dart away once more. His voice stays low as he continues. “That’s the last I heard; Natasha was going to Wisconsin and she’s on the case to track Jason down so I’d assume they’re still there…”

There is much Thor still doesn’t know then, despite Heimdell’s watchful gaze; he clasps Peter’s arm in brotherhood. “Thank you, friend; is there anything I can assist you with?” Thor tries to catch his gaze; he has questions, such as why Peter is here, but he bites his tongue. Those answers can come later.

Peter shakes his head, and with that Thor dismisses himself; he skirts around the boy with a soft farewell. He exits the building itself, removing himself from this heavy place; outside he brushes lint from his cape and, swinging Mjolnir, takes to the skies.

He has a duty, to protect Midgard and all its inhabitants; if that means by himself, or with an amalgamation of broken heroes.

Ragnarok—his brother—must be stopped, once more.

His flight to Wisconsin, after requesting directions from a young woman at a park, is fairly quick; he lands without much havoc and begins his search for the Avengers. It takes some time, but he finds them at a small diner partaking of a meal; their charriot is packed he takes note with the necessities of a lengthy trip and he is lucky to have caught them before they left.

“My friends!” He bellows as he comes upon their table, and Natasha pats at his arm in greeting. “’Tis been too long!”

“Thunderbuddy!” Tony’s speech will probably never make sense to Thor, however similar the tones seem to be to Loki’s, but still Thor offers a beaming smile in greeting.

Short pleasentries are exchanged, tension clear between every member at the table, and eventually Thor’s anxiousness must be taken note of.

“So why’re you here, Thor?” Steve offers a smile, though it’s shadowed by his exhaustion. “Did your father wake up?”

He’s stayed in contact as he could, through ravens or by sending one of the Warrior’s Three. However, he shakes his head sadly; Odin still sleeps. “I am afraid a graver subject brings me here; my brother…”

He doesn’t need to speak any more, as everyone’s disposition has altered at the mention of Loki.

Tony scrubs a hand across his face, already guessing what’s happening. “He’s escaped to Earth.”

“Perhaps; but, more importantly, he has begun Ragnarok.”

A snap in the air, static raising the hair on all arms, and a humored voice calls out “The end of all worlds.”

Loki stands at the edge of their table, and the various patrons seated nearby screech in a panic; he is a recognizable enemy, and some flee.

“You think me the bringer?” Loki’s smile is crooked, and the air shimmers sickly. “I’m not guilty, and yes that is truth; in fact, the culprit is from your ranks. The boy who Hel wished to claim, blessed by the Norns with unimaginable power; he is your Ragnarok bringer.”

Steve shakes his head and mutters no, whether confused or in denial is debateable; Sam, ever the helpful friend, places a supporting hand on his shoulder.

“And how do we know you speak the truth?” Natasha is tense, prepared for a fight, and she shifts in her seat. "You're a liar."

A wave of his hand, and Thor is distracted by the gentle caress of the air about his brother; he’s known but only a few spirits to attach themselves in such a way, and Loki has always been favored by a particular Norn.

“Because the Norns stand by him.”

Loki tips his head in acknowledgement, and Thor can almost hear his teasing note of  _ very astute, brother _ .


End file.
